Finis
by Her.Vanilla.Majesty
Summary: 03.-Of the colors of lips, changing of seasons, knights and queens, and the "everything in between" that is Link and Zelda.
1. Chapter 1

**A****uthor's**_** Note**_

_||L|| represents Link._

Z|| _represents Zelda._

Pretty self-explanatory, huh? ;)

Enjoy.

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: I do not own the Legend of Zelda.<strong>

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><p><em>Finis<em>

It was a symphonic movement of sorts, and it burned in his head like a permanent scar. The notes of steel hitting steel, of bated breath seeping from hungry lips, and of heartbeats keeping time as they shared one last moment before chaos overtook everything.

**01. **Fallen

_||L||_

The sword flickered, vanishing from its sheath and flashing in his hand—a blur of steel-colored fire weaving through the throng of silver armor plates and spears readied for attack.

Crimson splattered on the ground, sinking in between blades of grass as if the earth beneath them were bleeding slowly to death.

Everything was glaringly white, an empty canvas occasionally disturbed by streaks of red and grey—but the weapon in his hand moved nonetheless, like a possessed demon hell bent on drawing blood wherever it went.

His grip was slick and his face felt wet—not with tears, but with water.

(Was it raining?)

Dimly, he heard the cacophony of battle cries all sweeping all around him, a mix of deep and high piercing notes that made him cringe.

The continuous clang of armor hitting the blunt side of a sword followed, bringing with it the crescendos of dying words leaving parted lips as the Reaper took his fair share.

(Too many. Not fair. Never was.)

He heard his own voice, burning out from his lungs and forcing its way out of the roaring fire welling within his chest, and he recognized—with a slight degree of relief—that he was wounded and falling…

falling…

falling…

fallen.

(Maybe…maybe this time I won't have to get up.)

||Z||

She is blind to everything that happens afterwards.

They bring him to her, draped in heavy swathes of white cloth dotted with specks of red bleeding through torn skin. His eyes are closed, the hard line of his jaw turning purple and pink and the column of his neck drained of color.

She yells and screams and throws expensive things against the wall when they try to assuage her fears.

("He'll be fine. He always is.")

In the solitude of her room, she rages and pounds delicate hands on marble walls and fine china as they rush him to the infirmary and lock the door, just in case.

("That poor, poor girl.")

She spits fire at the doctors, feeling small and dark and angry when she realizes that it should be _her_ who dresses his wounds and not them because they can't do it right and they'll hurt him.

("We're doing the best we can to keep him in a stable condition.")

She doesn't eat for a week and writes letters all for him so that when he wakes up, the first thing he'll think about is her. Ink stains the pages, forming elegant spidery lines that can only convey half of the emotion that consumes her so wholly.

("I miss you. I'm sorry.")

Her nights are long and restless. The skies are starless and dark. Her stomach is empty but her heart aches for his return because he's really all she needs.

("It's you. It's always been you, hasn't it?")

The roses in her courtyard are dying and when the messengers sent from victorious generals burst through the doors to tell her that they've—finally—won, it falls on deaf ears.

("It's over, your Grace! It's all over!")

She slips her letters under his door in the cover of the night and rushes back to her room to lie on her bed and stare blankly at the ceiling. When he wakes up, she knows that the first thing he'll think of is her—and sometimes, when she's less sure of it, she prays to the gods. Her handwriting is neat and legible, she's certain, but it will do no good if his eyes are still closed.

("Please wake up soon.")

_||L||_

He lives in his dreams, drowning in the artificial happiness he's found there.

He sees her standing in a field of wildflowers, a breeze whispering through her golden locks and her eyes—blue and forever like the sky—lock onto his, gleaming a hello.

They embrace and he's stiff all over because it feels unfamiliar and vaguely empty. Her smile is warm and pretty, but slightly off-kilter and he can't tell why. Her eyes are needy and bottomless as they pierce right through his mind, her breath is like ice on his skin when she laughs against his throat delightedly.

She tells him that she's been waiting a long time for him.

Her hands come around to the small of his back and cling there, fingers digging into the fabric and clenching it together. His hands hover for a moment, unsure, before they land gently on her shoulders—a sign of reassurance.

The wildflowers sway tunelessly to the wind and their scent hits him—almost too strong and sweet to be true.

She buries her face in his chest and holds him impossibly tight, her voice like steel slicing through silk when she tells him that she loves him.

He tells her that he loves her too.

||Z||

She should have known he would be hurt.

The men and women from the southern desert of Gerudo fought like hell itself, all scimitars and sharp arrows that always found their mark.

But they had broken their ties to the Hylian Alliance, severing any chance of peaceful resolution when they allied themselves with the lawless revolutionaries from the outer provinces of Hyrule and Altea to take the Crown captive and instill anarchy. It had set off her Council on a fit, goading the noblemen to prove the upper hierarchy's power over lesser people such as them—which, in turn, caused them to pressure her to declare war on anyone who would dare "oppose the law and the goddess' will".

Yet most of the blame belonged to her. She was too arrogant, too prideful in both the infallibility of her wisdom and the strength of her hero.

He was not invincible, not the immortal she held him to be in her eyes. He was still mortal, still able to feel and hurt, still fragile in the way all humans were fragile.

Still sleeping and distant.

They unlock his room and tell her she's free to visit whenever she likes.

She stays away because she doesn't deserve to whisper her apologies yet.

_||L||_

His dream world changes constantly, shifting in tones of color and light and scenery.

Cobblestone streets dusted with feathery blankets of snow unravel into messy golden stitches that weave back together to form a lake underneath a late afternoon sky.

She is the same throughout it all.

They sit on a shore, watching gentle waves lap over each other in perfect strokes and wash over the sand with a discontented sigh. She clings to his hand, her face pensive and grave as sunset came and layered everything in burning shades of orange and candlelight gold.

He tries to make her laugh and her face softens, eyes melting to a lighter shade of blue. He ignores the doubts that lodge within his heart, he ignores the cautious whispers in his mind telling him that this is all wrong, that s_he_ is all wrong and that he should not love her because she is not the princess she claims to be.

She sings him a song when night falls and her voice is lovely yet lacking the richness of the tone he is used to.

She tells him she loves him again.

He just smiles.

||Z||

Her resistance doesn't last long.

She finds herself stumbling to his room early in the morning, freshly woken up from nightmares filled with lifeless blue eyes and broken swords.

The sight of him nearly makes her faint because he looks so _real_ and solid—unlike the wavering ghost of him she finds in her dreams.

A blanket is laid over him, tucked beneath his chin where she sees, with growing relief, his scars fading. His hands are cold when she takes them in hers.

His hair is still golden and fair—just as she remembered. They are soft and she smiles fondly—the first genuine smile she's shown in the past year—and tells him that he's grown even more handsome than she's ever thought possible. His breathing is shaky and ragged but she tries to keep calm and tells him about how life in the castle is ever since he left—dreary, dull, and almost unlivable at times.

She tells him that she misses him still and that she hates the fact that even though he's here with her he can't see or hear her.

She tells him that she loves him—it is a tired exhale of breath against his delicate cheek—knowing that her secret is safe.

He doesn't wake.

She cries herself to sleep by his side.

_||L||_

He's scared.

Scared of her.

His dream world changes, violently, everything bleeding into darker colors and blocking out the sunlight.

He tries to sleep in his makeshift bed while she paces to the side, muttering angry words under her breath. Her eyes are hollow and dark, he can feel them and see them through closed lids, roving over his features carefully.

She places a cold—cold, _so cold—_finger on his collarbone, hissing angrily when she felt his warmth. Her hands shook, plastering against the sides of his face and he wakes, shooting her an irritated look.

She blushes, but her eyes are blazing with anger—anger at him? She tells him that he's feverish. He tells her that her hands are cold.

The expression on her face changes rapidly, from fury to panic and she stutters and blinks away frantic tears.

Guilt wells up inside him, along with suspicion, and he apologizes, taking her into his arms.

She goes boneless, burying her face in his neck and crying almost hysterically.

He shivers.

"Zelda, you're so cold…"

She stops crying and clings tight, her nails digging so deep into his back that he lets out a surprised gasp. His grasp on her falters and she makes a low, indignant sound in the back of her throat, cheek plastered against his shoulder and fingers weaving through his hair.

Her breathing is labored and hoarse when she whimpers helplessly against him.

"Don't leave me, Link. Please don't."

He's not sure what to say.

||Z||

He shivers at night, skin feverish to the touch.

When she brushes a finger against his cheek, his brows furrow and he drifts away from her touch with a painful moan.

When she kisses him, her lips burn and he stiffens, sinking deeper into the pillow.

He's so close to waking up, so close to her—but she fears the distance that will eventually come between them when that time comes.

_||L||_

Zelda—the Zelda of this world of his—is beautiful and free and bears no crown.

Her hair—golden silk—is tangled and adorned with autumn leaves and stray cherry-blossom petals.

She can run through the never-ending valleys on her dainty, bare feet. She can wear dresses that can be stained and torn. She can laugh and cry whenever she feels that need to do so, and he can always be there for her.

Zelda—the Zelda of this world of his—is fading away.

And she is angry because he is not.

||Z||

There is color, a flush returning to his cheeks.

His hair is lustrous again, his lips bleeding back to their richly, pale hue, and his breathing is steady once more.

She is deliriously happy, peppers him with shy kisses, and lets light return to her world in slow, hesitant shafts.

He talks softly in his sleep, sighs nonsense words into the air, making them magical because she's gone so long without his voice and it sounds thick and sweetly lyrical in her ears.

She tells him that she will wait for him, no matter how long, but he must promise that he will return.

Her tears are salty and clear, and mingle in his hair.

He turns in his sleep.

_||L||_

She still sings for him.

But her voice is broken and narrow and her songs are aimless and distorted.

The moon is low and shrouded in mist and they are standing beneath a thick canopy of darkened leaves when she kisses him.

It is stumbling and desperate and he can taste her tears, the tang ringing clear in his mouth, but he doesn't pull away because she is so delicate and pretty and lost, and he cannot find it in himself to break her—apparition or not. He stands still, a breeze whispering between the tiny space that hovers between them, and she lingers, curling her fingers on his shoulders.

She is sweet but faint, and he can clearly hear the clap of thunder echoing far behind him over the shy humming in her throat.

The grit on her dress is a stark contrast to the fairness of her skin. Her eyes are murky and fathomless. She smells like the first night of winter.

He has to pull away for air and she makes a startled, small noise that makes his heart wrench.

Her fingers ghost over his arms, feeling the firm, corded muscles, and she stammers and reddens and flinches back—half transparent in her weakened state.

She bows her head, apologizes, and he places her palm against his heart.

They can both hear the steady beating, sense the thrum and timed pace.

She smiles, sorrowfully, and grazes his jaw with her lips and laughs feebly when he only smiles back.

She is leaving this world, she has to leave this world, she does not belong in this world.

Only he does. He and the rest of the fallen.

This state of mind is no state of mind.

The realization lodges in his heart, like the tip of the arrow that sunk in the flesh between there.

This is reality, the dreams have gone, and he is left with this empty, empty space where she is winking away from existence.

And then she's gone and he's all alone.

||Z||

He wakes.

Blue, blue, blue eyes stare up at hers, bleary and lazy, light singeing through the loose strands of hair that fall across.

She blinks.

He blinks.

There is one moment of silence, one beat of nothing, one breath taken before a smile shatters through her air of despondency and she launches herself in his arms, muttering and crying.

He is prone and stiff. He makes a muffled noise of protest when she squeezes him a little too tightly.

She laughs, vision blurred by tears, but his beauty gives way to clarity and she marvels at his tiny, smile—feeling the sun's radiance dim beyond them. His voice is a bit broken but strong, and she can listen to it all day.

"I missed you."

His eyes glow and he grins broadly.

"I missed you too."

_||L||_

He cannot stay for long.

She is beautiful and happy and alive and breathing under his fingertips.

But he cannot stay for long.

"I missed you."

His eyes widen, first with fright, then sorrow, then amazement, and he smiles at her

"I missed you too."

A kiss, delicate and chaste, pressed to the back of her hand.

"I'll still miss you. Always."

She looks confused.

He wants to explain.

But he cannot stay…

…it has been too long.

He cannot stay.

He kisses her then.

Everything plays over, winds again in his head, each scene flickering back and forth. The smell of her mixed with the sharp scent of too much blood spilled. The soft, velvety feel of her mixed with the touch of rough layering of iron cast over a slippery hilt.

…The sound of her breathing mixed with the thump of a body hitting the ground.

It was a symphonic movement of sorts, and it burned in his head like a permanent scar. The faraway notes of steel hitting steel, of bated breath seeping from hungry lips, and of heartbeats keeping time as they shared one last moment before chaos overtook everything.

Before reality overtook everything.

He leaves.

_XXX_

_They bury him in the arching tombs where they know she would have wanted him to go. They adorn him in all the sayings and farewells worthy of a legend, a hero, and a lover—for the sake of the princess who has lost both her mind and her heart._

_They walk past the room, where she sits alone, crying and laughing and hugging the empty air where he should be._

_She is blind to the blood that has long bled and dried in the sheets._

_When she sleeps, curled against the cold, arms reaching for the nothingness that lays beside her, the maids enter and dispose of the blankets._

_When she wakes and walks out of the room, they cannot look her in the eyes, knowing that they will find only bright, hollow, spirals of madness where her heart lies scarred and beating for one who has left and is not coming back._

_She saves her letters and reads it to his ghost at night._

_And right when the moon dips low over the horizon and the leaves have darkened, she returns to reality for one brief moment and calls to the wind to carry out her confessions to him before insanity steals her away again._

_They know she is falling…._

_She has been falling for a very long time…_

_falling… year past year…_

_falling…_

_falling…_

_Fallen._

_Maybe this time she will not get up again._

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><p>Darker than what I intended. A lot more confusing too.<p>

...But please review!

-HVM :)


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: **This is my second drabble, but BE AWARE that is comes in multiple parts that will be updated quite erratically because my mind is just like that. :P

Enjoy.

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><p><strong>02. Delude <strong>

** -1.**

He stands wreathed in the diamond brilliance of the glistening chandeliers, watching as the dull proceedings of their celebratory gala go by, watching as she flitters from person to person, watching as the radiance of the stars spill through the picture windows and steal away his attention for a heartbeat.

And, keeping in time, she lets her heart shatter for that one second before piecing together another smile and avidly congratulating an expecting duchess and doting on the small children that hide behind the silk of her skirts. The woman's belly is swollen and nudges against the green satin of her dress in a somewhat unflattering manner, but the joy in her eyes and the redness of her cheeks reflects no discomfort in the situation

The duchess compliments her on her choice of selecting Zora's Domain as the wedding venue, and fawning over every word that slips from her royal lips.

Smile safely situated onto her face, she tells the duchess that she cannot wait. She tells the duchess that she hopes her gown will be prepared in time. She tells the duchess that she hopes _he_ will like it.

She tells the duchess she loves the man who stands on his lonesome in the shadow of marble pillars. She loves the man whose eyes are so blue and fathomless. She loves the man who does not love her.

His gaze returns, heat prickling the nape of her neck, and she excuses herself. Faces crowd her, eyes fruitlessly try to catch her own, bodies thrum to the music as she sways through the thickening crowd without a partner.

He stands to attention upon her arrival and she cannot miss the tension set on his shoulders.

Her still-fragile heart starts off at a faster pace, the mended wounds cracking, threatening to tear in two.

Everything in the room dims as a spark flares in his eyes, touching the contours of his face as his lips curl to a hesitant smile that is shy and awkward but still manages to make her heart expand across her chest.

"Link," she says to him, voice gentle yet firm. "Are you feeling well?"

It is a simple enough question. An alternative she prefers over the real one burning in her chest, wanting to spring from her mouth.

_'Do you miss her?_', she wants to ask. _'Will you always miss her? Will you ever stop needing her?'_

Yes. Yes. No.

His arms raise, his hands settle on her shoulders, his eyes trap hers. "Yes. Are _you_ feeling well, Princess?"

She smiles. "Just a bit weary of mingling. Something which you've managed to avoid doing the entirety of the night, it seems."

"I…" he falters. "I'm not good with words. You're much better at them." He laughs, and it is a short but mellifluous sound that rings in her ears and makes heat curl in the bottom of her stomach. "Much better, actually."

She remembers his proposal, remembers the hushed tones he used, remembers the distant look of his eyes as she tried not to cry when she saw the ring—so fragile and beautiful and presented within reach—and wrapped him tightly around her arms—not wanting to ever let go. She remembers this and her face softens upon realizing the truth of the statement.

She knows the ring was not meant for her.

How stupid, how idiotic, how bold of her to accept it anyway—to slip it on her fingers and claim a kiss from its giver without a second thought about _her._

About the woman who they pretend is dead, about the woman who lies so precious and reverent in their memories, about the woman whom his heart holds so much closer in secret…

…about the woman who is not her

She lets her arms twine together on the nape of his neck and tightens the smile on her lips to secure it firmly within place.

"I know."

**XXX**

The Zora people are fond of Link.

They flock to him, starry-eyed and cheerful. They tell her she looks lovely, that she is "glowing" and it is, no doubt, by his handiwork that she smiles so much more.

…but she smiles because she thinks that if she stops for one moment, she'll forget how…

Skins gleaming like river water, eyes shining like polished coins, they lavish them with attention and gifts and coo at their entwined hands. The children braid her sun-tinted hair and place flowers through each lock and they present her to him like a shiny new toy, demanding praise for such beauty.

He grins and takes her close, ushering the children to play in the water as he laughs at her embarrassment and teases her on the red coloring spreading across her cheeks. He pats her shoulders and tells her of his adventures in the Lakebed Temple—carefully withholding any mention of the woman who accompanied him there once upon a time. He laughs at her feeble excuses for a jest and he smiles at her with warmth and love…

He smiles at her like a friend, like a comrade…never like…never like the way he probably smiled at _her._

But…

But he kisses her by the foot of the waterfall, where foam billows up like a great cloud of washed-out silver mist, and she feels like she is drowning because her vision has gone hazy and despite the roar of the rushing flow of water, all she can manage to hear properly is his heartbeat—slow and sleepy.

That kiss was not meant for her.

The audacity, the sheer gall, the unfathomable _nerve_ of her to greedily accept it nonetheless.

XXX

He sleeps and she combs her fingers through his hair, eyes drooping halfway as she fights to keep them open—afraid that if they close for a single blink he will disappear.

Sunlight scatters across the clouds and everything is all in shades of purple and blue. He mutters and shifts in his makeshift bed and cold wind brushes against his cheek almost reverently.

She shivers and tucks the blanket over his chin, sidling closer and rubbing absent-minded circles against his cheek. She whispers a lullaby to his ears, the words long and lyrical and soothing because she wants him to sleep.

Sleep, sleep, sleep through the twilight so that all he'll hear through the night will be her—and her alone.

Sunlight warms her back and she retreats to her room.

XXX

When she wakes, all she sees is him.

The way sunlight slants across his face and takes residence in the silken crown of hair that falls low to brush over his brows. The way his eyes are a lighter shade of blue, like tropical waters. The way his gaze is focus and alert.

The day is young and the sun sits lazily on the horizon, stretching its golden arms across the sky.

He's dressed in casual finery, sword strapped across his back—gleaming silver and white.

He wants to ride out across the forest, he says. To the green land that dots the high borders of the water kingdom—the places he has not yet seen. He tells her this with a gleam in his eyes and earnestness in his voice. The look he gives her is child-like and pleading.

She gives him her consent and the Zora people arm him with their best wishes and crafted weapons, and with a fleeting smile her way, he goes off—promising to return before dinner.

XXX

She spends the day out in the sun, coordinating with her fickle planners on the color theme and flower selections.

They suggest hyacinths and blue forget-me-nots. They suggest violet tulips and bloody, blushing roses.

She wants sunflowers and bright yellow lilies.

She wants sunlight during the happiest day of her life—not the somberness of falling dusk.

She wants the sun to hang up in the sky forever and ever.

She wants him to forget about her because she is selfish and needy.

She wants him to love her.

XXX

He doesn't return.

Her stomach is filled with the fine delicacies of the Zora people and her tongue still remembers the sweet tinge of the expensive champagne poured into glistening crystal flutes.

But her heart is empty because it misses the sight of him—close and touchable.

She settles on a white stallion that King Rallis kindly lends to her. He sends her off with a wink and tells her to "reign in her other horse because it was high time he be tamed by a fine woman such as herself."

She wears no sword because she knows that in this stillness of night, s_he_ is watching over them from her kingdom on the wrong-side-of-the-tracks.

The slopes to the forests are rocky and steep, but the ivory mare is tough and stubborn and practically flies through the erratic pathway—unable to sense his rider's obvious discomfort.

Her steed calms at the sight of a peaceful clearing, where the grass looks only slightly disturbed and the trees above provide a dark green canopy over their heads.

She finds him kneeling on the ground and the moonlight peaks through the leaves as she makes her way towards him.

His eyes are shut and his sword is impaled in the dirt before him. He is breathing shakily.

She lowers herself to his side and his eyes blink up at her, so blue, blue, blue.

He embraces her and he's stiff with the chill of the night and the jumbled thoughts in his head. His tears pit-patter on her sleeve and he clings to her like a lost child searching for a way, any way.

They kiss and the animals croon from their perches and the trees rustle and there is shadow in every corner, creeping along to partake in the watching. There is nothing beautiful, nothing romantic of picturesque about the scene.

Because all there is to behold are two people who should be right for each other, who should love and cherish each other—but are so broken and incomplete that this is the only way for them to keep one another sane and alive.

"You taste like champagne," he says and she tightens her hold on him.

"I know."

He is tentative and cups her cheek. She can see the color of his eyes through the dark lashes that fence them. "She kissed me here once."

Somewhere far away, a wolf howled at the moon and she shuddered.

All he tasted of was her. All he tasted of was the night and the dusk and the veil of twilight that once choked her dying kingdom. All he tasted of was the sadness that lodged in her heart, bitter and foreign but _real._

She wonders how she'll be able to fool herself any further into thinking he loves her now that she knows this.

She decides she'll just kiss him for now and pray for tomorrow.

XXX

_Finis: Part 1_

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><p>So...<em>Finis <em> is kind of like a place for the little story ideas in my head. You'll most likely just find one-shots-with **Delude** as a lucky exception. Or, rather, unlucky exception.

It won't all be angsty. Pinky promise :)

_(To a concerned reviewer: I have the episode for "Misadventures" in my Doc Folders, but I need to rewrite it so don't worry. I'm honored you like that story because I was feeling a little "meh" about it every since it popped up in my head. :D)_

Oh, and uh, **_review_**!

-HVM


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Apparently things come to from being bored. Short and maybe just a little bit sappy. But who isn't a romantic at heart, really? (Except for _you. _Yes _you. You _know who you are.)

:P

R&R for some M&M's? (Oh,_ that's _clever)

-HVM

* * *

><p><em>.seasons.<em>

_**.**_

_**.**_

_**(of earth and heaven/ of land and sea)**_

**-Spring**

Their promise lies stretched across the horizon of the ocean-_their ocean-_where a haze of blue kissed green.

**-Summer**

It is unexpected-so of _course_ she is shocked-and he falls off the railings and plummets underneath the sea like a rock, and she's on the verge of hysteria-flailing her arms and screaming at a surprisingly impassive Niko-until his head breaks through the water, amused and grinning as he laughs out, "It was hot."

**-Fall  
><strong>

"You suck at hunting," he glowers over his shoulder as she practically stomps through the forests, leaves and twigs the only thing perishing in her wake despite the bow she wields.

**-Winter**

She screamed when the ground underneath her shifted and the snowman suddenly came to life, roaring and twig arms snapping off as it lunged forward jerkily-and she ran straight back to the ship without noticing that her assailant...had blue eyes.

_.color._

_**.**_

_**.**_

_**(of lips and love/ of night and day)**_

**~Pink**

"I like it," he smiles cheekily, fingering the blushing silk as she trips on her heels for the fifth time (the ladies-in-waiting snicker).

**~Red  
><strong>

"It doesn't go with your dress," he grouses, but he kisses her anyway (and the ladies-in-waiting aren't quite as amused).

**~Yellow**

"Gran always said it was gold," he sulked, fingering a lock of his hair and letting out a dejected sigh.

**~Purple**

She falls, limp, to the ground, smoke burning down her arms-rendering her immobile on the stone-cold floor until strong arms wrap around her and lift her up.

**~White**

Everything was bright and burning for one moment, and she felt it (so suddenly her knees almost gave out)-the weight of a thousand souls, a thousand memories, a thousand lives lived lodging in her heart, caving in, squeezing her and she was nearly nothing against a sea of Zelda's until...

**~Blue**

...He came crashing in, eyes glinting past the candlelight glow of the room, smiling-and she remembered who she was.

_.kings and queens._

_**.**_

_**.**_

_**(of armor and silk/ of swords and scepters/of war and diplomacy)**_

***Hope  
><strong>

It is a small thing with feathers that flutters in her hands as the people line the streets and chant "long live the Queen!"

***Chivalry**

She tells herself that he rescues these falling damsels and helpless maidens because he must, and it shouldn't matter because he is always by her side in the end-whether she is or isn't in distress.

***Armor **

He has killed before, and there are times when it scares her sometimes to find him so distant and aloof within chains of mail and plates of steel, to see eyes sharper than swords, to feel lips colder than a polished blade.

***Privilege  
><strong>

Sometimes the burden of the crown sends her crying, and he is the only person she will ever turn to.

***Glass  
><strong>

"It's okay, I'll get it," she says and picks up every glinting shard, and he winces every time soft flesh brushes against their jagged edges.

***Throne**

He found that there was no other place on earth that satisfied him as much as the empty spot beside her.

***Sapphires  
><strong>

She wears jewels the color of his eyes, the nobles gossip-and it spreads like wildfire-but, for once, it was true.

***Property**

The farmgirls and ladies-in-waiting stop talking about him whenever she passes by-their torrid whispers muted and the curve of their lips wilting-and she finds she likes it better that way.

***Suitors**

They are pompous and arrogant, they look at her body as much as they look at the crown of her head, they are cowardly and spineless, they are not _him_-and she hates that most of all.

_.romanceintheair._

_**.**_

_**.**_

_**(when eyes meet for the first time and never pull away/ when nothing else matters)**_

_**Epiphany**_

Through the glamor of clashing glass flutes, in the midst of fading starlight, framed in ocean breeze and swaying palms, she can feel destinies twining together as he takes her hand (no one is looking, it shouldn't matter)-

and shooting stars fly (but she has nothing else to wish for now).

_.dilexi vos maxime._

**.**

**.**

**(i loved you most)**

* * *

><p>Pointless, ne? :) That's what my drabbles are. Hope you got that it was kinda Wind Waker-themed because that game was awesome.<p>

Review to save bunnies from extinction. (Not that it'll help, really)

-HVM


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